"Take the invite out," Morrison says to him. 

He reaches in and pulls it out. It's a thick, handmade card, showing elegant writing written with what was probably a very expensive fountain pen. 

"Now lick it." Morrison says. 

Tobias' smile disappears. "The fuck you say."

"Lick it," she repeats. "Both sides." 

"You have plain lost your mind." 

"And you're wearing gloves." 

If April takes a closer look, it's true. He is, in fact, wearing gloves. It's hard to notice because they're clearly made of some incredibly expensive leather, dyed to exactly match his skin tone. 

Tobias, acknowledging Morrison's observation, held up the invite in front of his face. "Only for you," he says, mock theatrically, then sticks out his tongue and runs it across the card, first one side and then the other. "Not dead yet," he says, when he's finished. 

"I'm willing to wait." 

"That's nice. I'm not. I have other places I need to be." He puts envelope and card in one hand, and thrusts them at her. "Take these." 

"No." 

"Fine. Then how about I hold it up, and you take a picture of the damn invitation with your phone. Then I can say I delivered the invite, and we can all go on with our lives. Deal?" 

Morrison considers it for a moment. "April, take a picture of the invite with your phone," she says, keeping her eyes on Tobias. 

"You're not going to do it yourself?"

"I want to keep my hands free."

"Now you're just putting on a show for the girl." 

She rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone to get a picture.

He turns the card over, to make sure she gets both sides. "Good. Now, just a reminder. Now that she's got the invite, you know she has to show up for it. If she doesn't, it's not going to end well for her. Or for you." 

"I thought you had other places to be," Morrison says. 

"I'm going," Tobias says. He turns to look at April. "Good luck, Turnberry. You're going to need it." 

"Leave," Morrison says. 

"Good to see you too, Til." He turns and walks away, invite still in his gloved hand.